


give it till i beg give me some more

by sultrygoblin



Category: Ex Machina (2015)
Genre: F/M, Overstimulation, Smut, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24067456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - requestish - nathan is too proud to admit he has a crush but he isn’t too proud to make her beg
Relationships: Nathan Bateman/Original Character(s), Nathan Bateman/Reader
Kudos: 23





	give it till i beg give me some more

**Author's Note:**

> so an anon asked me about nathan NSFW fic when i was already writing one. so here ya go. my toe into the oscar issac fandom. i also accept poe dameron and blue jones.
> 
> “ Would you ever write something for nathan Bateman? If so, could you write something NSFW? :)”

I miss variety. Ingenuity. I miss not fucking knowing. Just a few bits of code and they do whatever I say. I’m so fucking tired. It’s so much easier to just turn everything off and let things move organically. But that’s the fucking point, isn’t it? And until I do, he had gestured wildly to you then and continued about his morning routine. That had been about seven months ago and it seemed your job was to be exactly that. Human. A bit of maid, a bit of therapist, majorly drinking buddy, but mostly something unpredictable. Most of the time Nathan spent in the lab you spent on your own. Wandering the landscape, reading books, you’d even gotten a bit into the new age crap he was spouting. None of the just water and brown rice dieting but you’d found something comforting about taking time to yourself at sunset or unleashing your frustration with a half-run, half-parkour marathon through the woods. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he had been right. Out here, away from people and the fog of society, everything seemed not just simpler but easier. Thoughts, dreams, ideas, it all seemed to happen so smoothly when there was nothing to be concerned about except the immediate surroundings.

Sometimes your boss was lucky enough to experience this with you. A strange excitement grew in your belly when he did, you know what it is, but naively calls it pride instead. He’ll sit down beside you at sunset, matching his breathing to yours, and they’d sit there for hours. It’s the Nathan you like, who feels like someone you could grow to a call a friend. In those moments, it really felt like that’s what they were. Sure his narcissism could never be quelled, his narrative always slipping towards arrogance, but there’s something amusing about it then. Almost endearing. Even if he doesn’t use the right words to demand you let him rub out a particularly stubborn knot after a tromp about the grounds, there was something adjacent to caring underneath it.

Except the nougat, you’d found you enjoyed, if a bit too much, was wrapped under a nice thick layer of asshole. He liked to drink and fight. If they fought organically, you probably wouldn’t hate it so much. That was just being a drunk douche. It was more like he planned to fight, he carefully constructed a scenario and no matter where you tried to turn, the maze always ended at fight. Whether it’s about ethics or he’s mocking you for your lack of technical knowledge, he finds a button and he just keeps pressing it until you storms out of the room. Over the last few months, you’ve gotten better at prolonging the inevitable, not letting him get under your skin, the last few times you’d just left and gone to your room quite happy with your freedom to lock him out. After the last time, he’d even apologized and they’d gone two glorious weeks without alcohol on anyone’s part.

Then he had a breakthrough and you are naïve enough to think they’ll be too busy celebrating for him to be an asshole. Honestly, you only had yourself to blame but it was easier to blame him. You had just finished your second vodka cranberry and Nathan, well, he was far too gone. Even forgoing a glass to drink it straight from the bottle. He was sitting there, his thumb and finger steepled against his face, staring, the kind that said whatever came out of his mouth next wasn’t going to be anything you wanted to hear. With a third drink in hand and a pint tucked in your hoodie pocket, it was best to just make for your room. It seemed like you just might make it, all you had to do was turn-

“Do you think I’m gonna fuck you?”

There it is. The asshole. All too perceptive as always. But you don’t stop, even as your face twists and your heart begins to race. If you do he’ll know. What he’ll know you haven’t quite figured out, just that he will. There’s the heavy sound of his feet hitting the floor and you run, you’re not giving him a fight no matter how badly he wants one. Especially about this. Why? You skid into your room, getting the door shut and managing to lock it with more than enough time. You are thankful for metal doors and good speakers when he does finally make it, the vodka helps drown him out too. No matter how hard you try to focus on how he’s an asshole and kind of misogynist you mind kept wandering back to the question. Do you think I’m gonna fuck you? It’s strange for a variety of reasons, chiefly being, you had no idea how to respond to that like a person. Beyond that, it was a ridiculous question. You had never given any inclination that you had thought that in any way. Fuming on it as the vodka made it harder and harder to push down the fact that you had thought about it. More than once.

But never in the context of it actually happening. More of a shameful thing that briefly flashes before your eyes that sends you tumbling over the edge. Nothing worth thinking about let alone talking about. But why bring it up? Why ask about it? Why ask like that? Do you think I’m gonna fuck you? What did that mean? When the alcohol rocked you to sleep you still hadn’t answered those questions and had about a thousand new ones. 

{}

Nathan doesn’t make it up till afternoon, you’ve powered through the worst you hangover. The brisk weather of the approaching winter is helping you take care of the rest, sitting outside in a t-shirt and sweats, drinking glass after glass of water. You’d woken with the same running thoughts you’d fallen asleep with, only they’d had time to settle and now you found yourself looking at each of them from a new angle. There are a variety of things he could mean and obviously, you had immediately begun to think of the crueler reasons. It might have been a lead to insulting your appearance or your intelligence, which you had to admit was far to base for him. If he wanted to screw with you it wouldn’t be like that. Perhaps he believed you had expected that to be the inevitable result of being here, which also seemed unlikely. He had been very clear that was not an expectation and you had been even clearer that you had no intent to cross that particular line. Except, now, for a few seconds behind your closed eyes. But that hardly counted. There was always the chance he was asking in hopes your answer would be positive because that’s what he wanted. All of these and even more were possibilities.

You can hear the blender start from just a few yards behind you in the kitchen. You don’t dare turn, keeping your eyes focused on the horizon. The earthy colors swirling in your brain until you were no longer focused on them, but simply keeping your attention in other places. Lost to the slight ache that reminded you of so many more thoughts you’d allowed yourself to have the night before and dared not return to. If you were lucky he didn’t remember, he so often didn’t, and you could just pass it off on whatever demons alcohol let slither out of his mind. The door slides open behind you. You can hear his bare feet against the wood as he slides it closed again behind him. Thankfully he hasn’t brought one of the gag-worthy concoctions for you, unfortunately he chooses to stand next to you. Like nothing happened.

“You never answered my question.”

You kept your eyes closed, taking in those deep even breaths, “Why do you ask?”

“Answering a question with another question is obvious,” his voice moves slightly, listening to fabric scrape along wood, “You’re better than that.”

“Clearly you don’t think so,” blinking your eyes open to look at him, sitting there, looking at you as one does a jungle cat at the zoo, “Even the most intelligent and powerful men cower before the altar of vagina,” shaking your head, exuding far more confidence and nonchalance than you felt in the moment.

“Cower before the altar of the vagina,” he did that often, rolling your words around his mouth and spitting them back at you in some way you never intended, “Sounds exactly like something you would say.”

“If a woman doesn’t want to use you or screw you, you have no idea what to do. The ones you’ve built excluded,” if he wanted to lay bait while sober you’d happily gobble it up and play his game, at least he might be able to read the room.

“Your point only matters if you answer the question. The question you seem incredibly excited to avoid,” like he knows everything, he’s figured it all out.

There’s something about playing the game sober that makes you angrier. You thought it would be easier, but now you can’t blame it on vodka. No lack of inhibitions. He’s fucking with you because he can. He wants a reaction from you. You know he’ll win eventually, one way or another he always benefits from a conflict. Wasn’t it only fair you actually tried to win? Take that step into the ring he always seemed so keen to demand of you.

“Whether I think you’re going to or if you want, doesn’t matter,” stepping towards him, “I mean it doesn’t even matter if I want to,” taking the mostly empty glass from him, even he wouldn’t drink that sludge at the bottom, “You’d have no idea what to do with a real woman anymore.”

You spun on your feet, keeping your head up as you headed back inside. From the back all confidence but at the front almost positive you would be fired by this time tomorrow. Why couldn’t you have just thought about it for 5 seconds? No, fighting with him when he could remember seemed the better idea. Washing the glass the silent berating continued, out of the kitchen and to where? Your room, where you always ended up. At a certain point, it stopped being hiding and became pouting. This might be that line. You took the couch, arches pressed against the coffee tables edge, pretending to read one of the books that both of them seemed to leave laying around. The door slides open, bare skin against stone echo as he makes his way towards where you are. Unfortunately, the couch is tucked almost in a corner that hadn’t been figured into your plan and allows Nathan to do exactly what he’s doing now. Even if you are pretending not to notice you do, he standing there, staring at you. What’s unnerving is you don’t know how but it’s not a question you will be answering anytime soon because you almost equally didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your attention.

“That is the most honest thing you’ve said since you walked in that door.”

There wasn’t even an attempt to feign that you had been interested in the pages, closing the cover and setting it beside you on the couch. Watching him, watching you. If he expects you to say something in response he’s going to be sorely disappointed. You have a power over him, the realization sinking in seconds after his words do. Hubris won’t let him say what he really means; I want you to think about fucking me. He’d probably decided it the second he hired you and he no longer had faith you would come to that conclusion on your own. Except you had. Which didn’t feel so much like a weakness anymore? You lean back, arms crossed over your chest, stubbornness unable to make you look away even as all these thoughts reeled.

“But you’re wrong,” rubbing the back of his head, back and forth over the stubble, as if he’s sorry to be telling you this, “I’d know exactly what to do with you.”

The scoff that tumbles is both an accident and very genuine, as are the roll of your eyes, “What would you do?” letting the words roll off your tongue deliberately- and with far more confidence than you possessed in the moment- before picking up the book and “resuming” you reading.

There’s silence and then his retreating steps. Callouses on soft stone that didn’t echo in the room but just your ears. It was a hollow victory because you hadn’t truly won anything except for an imaginary foothold. You keep your eyes on the page for near an hour, the thoughts turning in your mind in a way you hadn’t been doing with the pages. He wanted you to think about it, that much was clear. But nothing about Nathan’s mind was ordinary and it never worked to think about it from the same angle. Even after another hour, chewing on your lip, slotting different ideas in and out of place you still wasn’t quite sure of one thing. Why? Not just why here or why now. Why at all? Why did it seem so important to him?

It was a question you had no other option than to sit on as he had disappeared into the bowels of the house for three days. He hadn’t exactly put the area off-limits but it had always felt implied. You knew what went on beyond the door but that wasn’t your expertise. It certainly wasn’t what you were here for. It didn’t seem like a place necessary to go in the last 7 months. Until day four. When it was clear that something was going on but you had no clue in which direction it might be going. More importantly, it had become clear somehow it was ‘you move’, and with that in mind, you slipped your key card into the reader. You were almost surprised to see the light change as the door opened, it drove in hard the fact that there was nowhere but forward now. Taking in the stark walls, the bright lights, how the short carpet felt against your curling toes, deep breaths.

You hate that you’re nervous, taking a step forward followed by another, that somehow he had played chicken to get you here. And not just had he played it, Nathan had won. Your victory a few days ago felt hollow and meaningless, just another step he had expected of you in one form or another. Deep breath. Making it to the turn at the end of the hall there’s nothing but closed doors and more white. Which provides a very obvious problem. Clenching your fists tight you drew in a few more breaths. Fuck.

“Nathan,” it’s a little louder than your normal tone but not enough to really do anything. Steeling your nerves you try again, “Nathan!” calling as if they were playing a peculiar game of hide-and-seek, “Seriously?” that seemed to do it as a door to you right, just a few yards ahead opened.

No trace of arrogance on his face. No victorious smirk or wandering eyes. Not even booze, it seemed. Just ragged. Suddenly it all seems very juvenile, this dance they do. Jab, parry, jab. It’s once men and women have been playing since the ID no longer controlled the mind. It’s easier. It’s organic. His words suddenly all make sense even though you are quite sure that he hadn’t meant it that way when he’d said them. You’re variety, this is part of it. The inevitable next step he must’ve figured out days after you’d arrived and left you to your own devices with. Kind of. But this isn’t part of that, this hasn’t fallen into his carefully pieced together plan. He had seemed so sure you’d never step foot beyond that door he’d never even thought to lock you out. His bare arms are crossed over his chest, he’s abandoned his glasses and somehow it makes him even more intense.

“You never answered my question,” easy, curling your toes in the carpet, “What would you do?”

A word that had held so many negative connotations when you was blossoming now became you mantra as that familiar smirk twisted his lips, “You came to ask me at,” lolling his head to look at whatever time giving device was in the room before back at you, “4:26 am what I would do to you?” raising his eyebrows.

“Not initially no,” making to chew on you well gnawed bottom lip and decided it was best not to, “But I forgot that,” you’d need whatever thin skin had managed to grow back if all went, “Must not be that important.”

“You do think I’m gonna fuck you,” he shot back with a renewing vigor it seemed.

“Doesn’t matter whether I do or don’t. You want me to think that,” you quipped with a shake of the head, “How many times you want to ride this merry-go-round, Nathan?”

He stepped from the doorway but not towards you or down the hall. He just stared, arms crossed, pupils seeming to grow as they traveled down and then back up your frame. Maybe the thought hadn’t occurred to him and he was taking it in for the first time. Or it had and he was taking in that it was happening. Maybe something else entirely. They all ended at the same place, him looking you up and down in a way that made you thin tank top seem suddenly stifling.

“Ask me again.”

He doesn’t specify but you know exactly what he means.

“What would you do to me, Nathan?” your edit having the desired effect of a clenched jaw that swallowed a groan.

“Let’s find out,” turning on his heels, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweats, and making his way down the hall.

The bedroom was simple which seemed exactly like him, it’s only real sense of individuality was a garden that stole your attention when it came into view. It still never ceased to amaze you how much life there was around them. Even indoors the lush greens were front and center. You’re sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere but it disappears in a flash. His lips press to the curve of your shoulder as he yanked you back against his front, one hand holds one hip in a bruising grip, the other tight around your waist. There would be no chance of moving beneath his grip even if you wanted to. Which you undeniably didn’t. The room is quiet except for the breathing that echoed over and over between walls of stone and glass. His beard scrapes softly against your skin, giving you a brief second to warning before his lips follow. Each press closer and closer to your neck drags tiny whimpers from you that might normally slip by unnoticed anywhere else but not this time. His erection presses firmly into your back leaving no question of what he wants to do to you. It’s what happens in the meantime you are all aflutter for.

“We do this,” his lips against your ear, “And it all changes.”

It does. You know that. It had taken up most of night two.

“How?”

The only answer you hadn’t managed to figure out. He laughs, rubbing the hairs of his cheek against the sensitive flesh behind and below your ear. Your body erupted in goosebumps and it takes everything in you to bite back the moan.

“You’re a smart girl, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

That’s when Nathan decided any speaking beyond the heat of the moment was superfluous. His teeth tugged at the shell of your ear, this moan would not be battered down, nor would the one that rose in your throat as the hand around your waist dipped under the hem of your tank top and began to drag it upwards. Spinning you when they were forced to part as the useless fabric disappeared leaving your torso bare to him. His eyes fixed on your breasts, eyes flicking back and forth while his hands held you by your hips just an inch from him. The grip disappears along with his shirt and in a sudden flurry, he was seemingly consuming you. There’s no stealing dominance, his tongue slipping between your lips, pulling you tight once again as he moved them backward. You fall, landing with a bounce, he doesn’t follow you. Leaning forward to hook his fingers in the sides of your joggers and panties, with a flick of his wrists they were gone.

“Fuck, baby,” running the tips of his fingers along your exposed thighs, “Feels pretty unfair you’ve been hiding this from me the whole time.”

There’s another snarky comment on your tongue but it dies when a thud hits your ears. The unmistakable sound of knees hitting the ground, your body thrums with anticipation. It’s not what but if, when, how, all of the possibilities bringing on a sudden wave of arousal that wouldn’t go unnoticed. It didn’t seem to be quite what he expected, another groan on his lips he clearly hadn’t planned, it’s clear he aims to pay you back for it. Your back arches, crying out, there’s no other reaction when the rough sensation of his beard scraped the sensitive skin of your thighs and nether lips before his tongue parted them. There’s the instinct to reach down and grasp at his hair, demand more, but that thought is dashed. Your heel digs into the edge of the bed, his tongue makes another pass, both hands twist in the blankets. When he starts to swirl it around your clit that panting begins. It’s different than you’re used to. Maybe it’s the tension they’d built or simply some skill you weren’t aware of, but it’s most certainly different. He slings your other leg over his shoulder, clenching your thigh enough to bruise. You can feel his muscles tremble against you, and it’s nice to know it’s not just you.

Torturously slow he slides two fingers into you, body aiming to rise off the bed at the welcome intrusion, he never stops. His tongue creating a counter rhythm with the dexterous fingers pumping steadily in and out of you at an agonizing pace. It’s all too clear he aims to make you beg, even as you refuse to now even you are smart enough to know eventually you’ll crumble. He’s counting on that moment and you vow to keep it at bay for as long as possible. No matter how good he felt. It steals your mind when the tips of his fingers curl just the slightest brushing against that spot inside where while his tongue gently laved at the hypersensitive nerves, course hair scraping against your swollen lips, there was no stopping the torrent that rushed through you at that moment. It isn’t the long climb and smooth fall you’ve always experienced. Your body sat up in a way that could only be described as possessed, eyes wild on him, unable to describe the primal noises falling from lips when everything exploded in an instant.

You don’t gently float back to Earth. It’s more of a thud. Falling backward on the bed, unable to catch you breathe even as you gasped and panted for air. His chuckle filters through the pounding heartbeat in your ears, a lewd sucking sound follows. Even if you can’t see him, it isn’t difficult to picture and that sends a thrum straight through you.

“I thought about what you’d look like. A lot,” his hands move up your body before his own glides over you, “You know, when you cum,” something about the nonchalance he says it makes you chest buck, you can see his smirk now, “I never imagined something like that,” till he’s hovering over you, “Did you?”

There’s only one way every involuntary action of yours can be explained, it was part of his work to be perceptive after all, and it wasn’t as if you’d done a great job at hiding the unexpected sensation.

“No,” even if you had it in you to lie you wouldn’t have, “It’s never been like that before.”

It undoes him in a way you never expected. His kiss is rough, teeth clanking, returning the ferocity. Until the velvety skin of his cock rubs against you and that becomes all you can focus on. You can feel him tug at your lip but pussy quivers at the anticipation as he moves back and forth, you are going to lose your fucking mind and you know. What’s worse-better?-is so does Nathan.

“All you gotta do is ask, baby.”

But it sounds like he’s the one begging. He’s begging you to need him.

“Fuck me, Nathan,” you do, you really do, “Please fuck me.”

You are so warm, so tight, and as the aching head of him slides into your sopping hole he realizes it’s the first time you’ve ever said fuck in front of him. Something about it eggs him on in a way he hadn’t intended. With a quick snap of his hips, he’s completely inside you, you shriek at the sudden movement even as your hips begin to roll against his. His forearms pressed against the bed over your shoulders gave you no real way to turn your gaze from his, you clung to his biceps, legs wrapped around him as he began to move at a punishing pace. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming forward, over and over. He watches your eyes roll back, your body pressed tight against his as it tried to rise higher, every part of your body inside and out seizes against him. He continues his pace through your orgasm and the next. And the next. Enthralled with watching all the different ways you come undone under him he can’t think about how their bodies will ache or how overstimulated you must be.

Not until you are thrashing against him, repeating his name and please in various combinations. It unravels him completely. It’s the most primal he’s ever felt. Ravaging your body for his own release sets off another one of your own that seems to match. There’s teeth and blood and screaming when he loses himself completely inside you. He doesn’t get to catch his breath until you’ve pushed him off you, shivering beside him as small noises of pleasure passed your lips.

“I was wrong,” you finally manages to push out, “Definitely know what you’re doing.”

His chuckle was airy, still not quite having found his breath, “Helps to have a partner that knows what they’re doing.”

Like so often was the case a light bulb seemed to go off in his, climbing from the bed with urgency and told to just stay there. Not that you could’ve gone anywhere else right now if you had wanted to. Carefully, slowly, and over a long time, you managed to scoot up the bed and under the blankets. Resting was a good idea, sure that when Nathan returned you’d need the energy.

**Author's Note:**

> as always feedback is appreciated. and i am always taking ideas or requests.


End file.
